


Dust

by Ellepige



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Coping, Drabble, Feels, Loss, M/M, Post-Recall, Sad, Short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-12
Updated: 2017-05-12
Packaged: 2018-10-31 01:23:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10888890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ellepige/pseuds/Ellepige
Summary: McCree is just another vigilante, another man not ready to follow the Recall.





	Dust

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!
> 
> Yeah... So this happened while I watched [@jaspurrlock's](http://jaspurrlock.tumblr.com//) stream and her beautiful, intimate picture of McCree and Soldier 76 making out. For some reasons it gave me feels and I wrote something and it's sad and gritty and I'm sorry.
> 
> But thank you all for encouraging me to write it anyways.
> 
> On a sidenote: Due to my brain being a bit extra atm I have a hard time proof-reading my work, so please forgive my spelling mistakes.

It was a small border town, ruined by the omnic war. A carcass ripped open and then forgotten, left to gangs and other vermin to feast on. Its dusty streets reek of blood, illegal cigarettes and long lost hopes. The dirt is too oily, vile and pungent. It remembered Jack of the burnt corpses on battlefields long gone.  
The window was so dusty, it didn't let much of the bright, hot sunbeams through. As if it was bound on shutting the outside world out.  
It was doing a well enough job in that regard, but not as much as the warm body behind him. Not as much as the fact that his visor lay atop of his leather jacket, long forgotten. 

He is vulnerable like this. He wouldn't have it any other way.

McCree is just another vigilante, another man not ready to follow the Recall. They were closer now than they had ever been when Overwatch still existed in all its bloated glory. Back then, he had looked down on Jesse McCree for his lax attitude, for his lack of respect, even for his loyalty towards Reyes. He'd come to loathe the smell of cheap cloves and the jingle of his stupid spurs. The sound of his laughter, the silly drawl.  
But now it was something that vagely remembered him of home. Of better days, of sunday mornings spent drinking tea with Ana. Gabriel and Fareeha playing some silly game in the background, Angela, always tired and so young back then curled up on the sofa, sleeping through all the noise. He remembers reading that children slept better when there was some source of sound. It meant that someone was around to protect them.

Nowadays, nights were silent. Sometimes, there was something like the sound of cars down on the street, the dripping of water, the rattling of a broken heater, but no laughter, no deep breaths or voices. Maybe this was why he came here, looking for McCree in the first place. Maybe the cowboy felt the same, maybe that was why he had allowed Jack to find him, in a run-down old bar, already half drunk on cheap whiskey at before noon.

He knew Reyes taught Jesse well enough not to be found unless he wanted to.

They did not even talk much, just sat there side by side until McCree got up with a sigh and made his way towards the stairs in the back of the room. jack followed suit, not really knowing what to expect. And that was how he ended up on the floor af a dingy little room, hands and knees resting on wood smooth and worn from decades of travellers walking in and out. The did not even make it to the bed, lost their clothes bit by bit, exploring each other in a way they never did before. 

Jesse smelled of tobacco, worn leather and whiskey as he pressed his face against the crook of Jack's neck, his beard, rough and unkempt like all of the man, scratched against his skin as a broad hand wrapped around his shoulder, steadying him against the massive form of McCree, all warm, damp skin and slightly coarse hair.  
Jack kept both of them upright with his arms, pressed his back against Jesse's chest and felt their thighs rub against each other.  
"That's it... I've gotcha, Jack." The soldier only moaned in acknowledgement, his name sounded foreign after years of not being addressed with it. "Just... let me make you feel good, hm?"  
"Yeah," he rasped, unsure what to say but eager to let the younger man take care of his needs. A surprisingly warm, but unyielding hand took hold of his leg, metal fingertips dug into the sinewy muscle as Jesse made him spread his legs slightly.  
"Ah, just like that, darlin'... So good... Look at you, so gorgeous and ready for me." McCree's voice was like liquid honey, slowly, steadily worming its way into his consciousness. He wanted to give some snarky remark, for he knew he was anything but gorgeous, but he desperately needed what little praise and affection he would get, so he just opened his mouth to moan, low and drawn-out. He was interrupted by two thick, calloused fingers that slipped past his lips. For a moment they stayed there, brushed over his tongue, filling his mouth with the taste of gun oil and cigars, then McCree pulled them back and nipped at the sensitive skin of Jack's neck instead. Almost as if he was apologizing.

Was he?

Might as well. Not that it mattered now. It was far too late for that.

He did not even flinch as the two spit-slick digits brushed over his entrance. Jesse took his time, gently eased one finger in and kept it at that until Jack relaxed enough to allow him to continue. The soldier got impatient before his counterpart did, he started bucking his hips, felt his own hard cock tap against the taut skin of his abdomen. He did not want to think, he came here to forget.  
"Jesse, come on," he growled, but the cowboy only chuckled and curled his finger just right to make a violent shiver run down Jack's spine.  
"Fuck!"  
"Ah... be patient, just a little more, cariño..." There was a shap, commanding edge to Jesse's voice, something oddly familiar. It took him a moment to realize where he heard it first. Years ago. A lifetime ago. Something that was no longer part of his life, someone who was no longer here to keep him company during painful, scary nights.  
He almost howled, but his body was too worked up, too eager and touch-starved to calm down.  
"Jesse!"  
"I know.. 's alright, Jack... all good now, Jackie... I've gotcha."

He came as the second finger sank knuckle-deep into his body, just careful enough not to tear anything. It hurt, but it was what he needed to concentrate, to ground him.  
Tears dared to form in the corners of his useless eyes, so he closed them and tried to focus on their steady breathing instead. Jesse huffed against the crook of his neck, his fingers had withdrawn from within Jack's body. McCree's strong chest was still pressed against his shoulders and Jack felt the heart of the other vigilante pound against his skin, felt the tension that still remained slowly dissipating.  
He stayed, his hands against the stained floor, his knees sore, just keeping Jesse upright as he rested for maybe the first time in years, his face, so used to lazy little grins and stupid grimaces hidden against Jack's skin. And slowly, he felt himself relaxing as well.


End file.
